Rating: PG
Author: Jen
Summary: Andrew wonders how it will go.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them; don’t know them, not getting anything from this.
*****
Sunlight stripes in through the window, making sparkles in the middle of the living room. The chants and shouts from the girls’ training session filter faintly in from the garden, offset by the occasional whoosh of a car on the road outside. It’s a rare moment of stillness in the Summers house.
He looks up from his book just as Xander breezes in from the kitchen, the plate in his hand piled with sandwiches. Xander offers a half-smile of acknowledgement and, after a moment’s indecision, joins him on the couch. The plate is proffered to him: he shakes his head, but smiles a ‘thank you’.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the peace. He tries to concentrate on his book, but after staring at it all day, the spidery words are giving up and crawling over each other, losing all sense.
When Xander has finished his first sandwich, he cocks his head thoughtfully and after a moment, murmurs, “this is nice.”
He ‘uh-huh’s an agreement, deciding the book is a waste of time now and closing it up with a small sigh.
“You know, a female-free house for the first time this apocalypse,” Xander continues, though the explanation is not necessary. Xander is sitting with him on the couch: that’s all the nice he needs. He breathes a small laugh, encouraging and understanding. Sometimes the girl-power thing gets a bit overwhelming. “I think I’m overdue for a little guy time.” Xander turns and looks straight at him. “Know what I mean?”
No, it wouldn’t be like that. That was just too easy. Heck, that was pretty much the start of a bad porno. The scenario was okay: he liked the idea of the shafts of sunlight in the empty room, and Xander wandering in to get away from the girls, but…but the dialogue was all wrong.
When Xander has finished his first sandwich, he cocks his head thoughtfully and after a moment, murmurs, “this is nice.”
He ‘uh-huh’s an agreement, deciding the book is a waste of time now and closing it up with a small sigh.
“You know, a female-free house.” He chuckles in sympathy, and Xander joins in. It’s a pleasing sound, so different from the ones that fill the house when the potentials and Buffy are inside. He wonders if he should say so to Xander.
“It’s relaxing,” he says instead, because it’s safer and less likely to scare Xander back into the kitchen. “Maybe the potentials ought to be taking time out like this, then they’re not so stressed all the time.”
“No,” Xander protests, maybe just a little too quickly. “Potentials relaxing means house full of women again. Right now, this is my space and they can’t have it!” Xander gestures to the room in general and mock-pouts for effect. “Well, our space, I guess.”
He smiles, because he’s hardly ever included in anything anymore.
“Thank you, Xander.”
Xander smiles back, but it seems kind of nervous and hesitant. The overall effect is very endearing, especially when Xander looks down at the bit of couch between them.
“You know - ”
The sunlight dissolved into post-midnight darkness. It was useless. He never seemed able to shift things beyond that moment. That one moment of odd silence on the couch that called for one thrillingly clever line, either from him or from Xander, that would set things moving.
Maybe it just wasn’t going to happen that way. After all, what were the odds of the house being empty and quiet in the middle of the day?
He shifted a little in his sleeping bag, wondering if he’d ever get used to its claustrophobic envelopment.
Maybe nighttime would be better. At least then everyone would be asleep, and that would be almost like being alone.
The sleeping bag is oppressively hot, and swishes as he tries to loosen his arms and sit up. He wonders if he really did cry out, or if that was just part of the dream.
Across the room there is a low moan, and someone mumbles indistinctly. Perhaps he did scream, and woke up one of the potentials. That would not be good. He waits anxiously for whoever it is to yell at him to go back to sleep.
“Andrew?” The voice is far too deep for a girl, and he realises in shame that he has woken Xander. He is used to insults from the girls, but somehow cannot stand the thought that Xander will be mad at him.
He can barely make out the shape of the man who has fallen asleep on Buffy’s couch, but there is just enough light for him to see that Xander is sitting up, pushing aside his blanket.
“What’s wrong?” Because Xander is the heart, after all. While Buffy fights and Willow knows stuff, and Dawn researches everything else, Xander is the one who cares and tries to keep the peace and make things better. It makes sense that Xander would ask that instead of telling him to shut the hell up and go back to sleep.
He mumbles something (unsure of the exact words right then, but they could be worked out later) about a dream, and about Jonathan, and that’s all he can manage before he's tearing up. He doesn’t have to be ashamed, because they all know he is in mourning for his best friend and that will make it okay for him to cry in front of Xander.
Because when he does, Xander gets up off the couch and suddenly is kneeling beside him, rubbing his back as he works through the sobs. Xander is not ashamed to do this either, because it is the middle of the night and there is no one around to see them.
He is the one who leans into Xander, forehead on his chest as he recalls the dream in a stream of incoherent babble about what he saw and what he did and what he heard. Somehow, leaning against Xander’s solid and unresisting body is reassuring, and he does not complain when Xander holds him still through a coughing fit. His arm stays there even when Andrew is still, and when the tears and the sobs have subsided, he looks up into Xander’s face and sees –
- a great big wuss who got scared by a dream. No. That one would not work. He definitely did not want Xander to think he was a useless lump who needed comforting like a girl. It would have to be something impressive. Like a battle, maybe, and -
- and he ducks aside as the Bringer lunges at him, barely missing. Around the room, Buffy and the other potentials are completely oblivious to him as they each fight their own battle, and he guesses they know he is holding his own. They might even congratulate him for it when this is over. He sidesteps another swing, but somehow his foot lands wrong, pain shooting from his ankle and leaving him unable to get out of the way as the Bringer moves in again. He is caught a punishing blow to the head which makes the room go fuzzy and sends him to his knees.
When his vision clears, he looks up to locate his attacker, and cannot believe what he sees. Xander has appeared out of nowhere and is fending off the Bringer himself. He is startlingly impressive with the sword, but somehow the Bringer gets in a cheap shot which brings Xander down, and the sword clatters to the floor right next to Andrew.
There is no hesitation. Xander is in dire need of assistance, and there is no one else around who can provide it.
He snatches up the sword and, before the Bringer even knows he is there, he is on his feet and swinging it around in a neat arc that cleaves its head cleanly from its body.
He doubles over, breathing hard, hands on his knees. There are no Bringers left alive in the room, and everyone else is dusting themselves off and catching their breath. After a moment, he turns and reaches out to help Xander to his feet. Their hands remain clasped as they each break into thankful smiles, uttering in unison, “you saved me…”
No, no, no. It just wasn’t working. It wasn’t right. He simply could not figure out how it would happen.
There was just that unshakable sense that it would happen, should happen. He just didn’t know how.
Andrew heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled over until his back was pressed against the skirting board. He ignored the discomfort, trying instead to focus on the sleeping bag wrapped around him, on the feeling of being enveloped. Tried to forget the plot, and focus on the dénouement.
He has two strong arms surrounding him, Xander’s chest against his back, and he is happy. It’s hard to describe exactly how they got here, but they did, and that’s what counts.
*****
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